Lost
by wordnerd4
Summary: If you had the chance, what would you do differently? What changes would you make? Would you tell anyone? The real question is, what would Harry do?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Obviously I'm not J.K. Although I would love to live in a castle...

**Author's Notes: **I was going to wait till I had a couple chapters before posting this, but I just couldn't wait! I'm going to try to keep it as canonical as possible, except for two things: the final battle did not happen the way it did in DH (which should be obvious after this chapter) and there are no Deathly Hallows-- partly because they don't work for this story and partly because I really didn't like them. 

* * *

PROLOGUE

I could imagine how this must have looked to those people at the bottom of the big hill on the grounds of Hogwarts. Sore, bruised, cut up. Both sides were run ragged; tired of the fight.

They probably would have taken any opportunity to break from the all night battle. That giant flash of green was just that opportunity. I could practically see it. A wave of face after face turning to discover who had won. To see if they could finally lower their wands or if they needed to run. Only to see the silhouette of two figures outlined across the backdrop of the rising morning sun. One prone, the other hunched over, yet still standing. Me.

I won. After all that time, all those battles, the deaths… it was finally over. Voldemort was dead. I looked down at the man that plagued my life for so many years, the man that most still feared to name. He didn't look so fearsome now. He looked… peaceful. Shivers ran down my spine at the thought.

I turned to look down the hill and saw every head turned my way. I searched the sea of faces, looking for that one, but I was too far away to make out any of them. I slowly started to stumble my way towards the waiting fighters. There was an intense silence that almost hurt my ears after the constant battle cries and explosions and shouted spells. It felt like the end, and the beginning. Everything looked sharper to my eyes… but also somewhat blurry or swimmy in a way I can't explain.

As I got closer to the crowd, urgent whispers started to erupt like a swarm of bees as they realized who it was lurching towards them. The remaining Death Eaters dropped their wands. They knew they wouldn't last much longer with their master gone.

I thought there would be cheering. I thought that the second he fell the celebration would start. There would be celebrating later, but not now. No one had the heart for it. We were too battle weary. All the death was too much, even though most of them _were_ Death Eaters.

When I reached the crowd, they parted like the red sea to let me through. Some gave me small nods, others a blank stare. I tried to focus on the faces. I wanted to remember them all for the rest of my life, but I couldn't consentrate. I couldn't distinguish one from another.

A figure broke from the lines of people and started towards me. A red haired figure. Ron.

I expected a small smile, for him to clap me on the back with a "Well done, mate." But none of that happened. He looked… stricken.

My first thought immediately went to Hermione. She and Ron had so recently expressed their feelings for each other, I couldn't think of anything else that would make him seem so lost. To have lost someone to soon after finally… my heart tightened at the thought.

But no. There was Hermione, a few yards back, crying on Neville's shoulder. She was scratched, bruised, bleeding, but still very much alive.

Neville looked a mess, too. He had a giant cut on his forehead that reached to his left eyebrow, his lip was split open, and he was holding his right arm in a way that made me think it must be broken. But again, he was alive.

It was at that moment that Ron reached me. He had been limping pretty bad, definitely favoring his left side, and I'm almost positive his nose was broken. But what really caught my attention, what I couldn't look away from, was his eyes.

They were so haunted. I had never seen Ron, my goofy, food obsessed, slightly jealous best mate Ron, look at me with so much pain. Not even when his dad got bitten by Nagini, or when Percy left the family, or when Dumbledore died. The only time I had ever seen him look anywhere close to how devastated he was then was at the end of our second year, when we thought the heir of Slytherin had-

"No!" I whispered in a voice raspy from yelling spells. No. It couldn't be true. It can't have happened. Ginny couldn't be…

I looked imploringly at Ron, silently begging him with my eyes to tell me I was wrong. To tell me anything. Anyone but her.

Ron seemed to be crumpling before my eyes. Any small hold he had, shattered with my one word. Tears streamed down his face as he fell to his knees. I stood there, stunned for a moment.

"No!" My voice was surer now. I rushed past Ron to where Neville and Hermione clung feebly to each other. They saw me race towards them and Hermione broke free from Neville to meet me, tears leaving tracks in the grime on her cheeks.

"Harry, I'm so sorry," she tried to comfort me. I wouldn't listen, I refused to believe. I brushed past her without a word. As I approached Neville, he started to speak to me.

"She was surrounded by about eight Death Eaters, Harry. I tried to get to her, I did!" he explained, almost as an apology. "She was holding her own. Four of them were down by the time I was close enough to hear the spells cast." I passed him as he said, "It was Malfoy, Harry. Lucius Malfoy."

This made me pause for a moment. My stomach dropped to my feet. But no. It couldn't be true. I knew when I saw her everything would be okay. Yes she would be hurt, but she would be alive like Ron and Neville and Hermione. She would be okay.

Unsurprisingly, it was her hair that I saw first. Her soft, vibrant, beautiful red hair. Her ponytail splayed to the right of her face. I was captivated by her hair, I had always been captivated by her hair. I couldn't look away from it for a moment, even though it was a mess of dirt and grass. I wouldn't… I was afraid to. But I had to, I had to know.

Her soft lips were parted slightly, as if in surprise. A trickle of blood dripped from her nose, down the side of her face, to the grassy earth beneath her. Her forehead was relaxed, with just one lock of hair falling across it. The dusting of freckles across her creamy cheeks was muted by the smudges of battle.

Her eyes. I had been avoiding her eyes. I knew that the second I saw them I would know. And I did. They were open and glassy. People are supposed to look peaceful or asleep. Don't they always say that people look like they're sleeping when…

She didn't look like she was sleeping. She looked… gone. She always had an air of being really alive, like she was always ready for anything. Like the world was waiting for her to start. Like the sun shone through her smile. She could do anything. She was a vibrant ball of energy. Not anymore.

I don't remember falling to the ground. Or grabbing her hand.

"No… no… no…" I didn't realize I was muttering until I had to stop to kiss her fingers. I rocked back and forth as I pulled as much of her as I could into my lap, cradling her head. I paid no attention to my friends or the hundreds of weary fighters watching my every move.

She was so beautiful. Even in death, even after an all night battle, she was beautiful. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed her for so long. I never saw her beauty. So much time I missed. If I had known… if I had known how little time she would have, how much would I have done differently? We could have had years together. And I let her go. After Dumbledore's funeral I pushed her away. If I had known…

So much would be different.

I wanted to close her eyes, but I still couldn't look too deeply at them. Those eyes were always so passionate. So filled with humor and joy. I would have even preferred sadness and pain over this blank, glossy stare. I needed to close her eyes.

I looked down and was stuck. Those chocolate brown eyes held me, I couldn't move. I felt rage, hate, love, longing. I felt too much. I felt like I would explode.

I was shaking. I only knew when a lock of hair fell in front of her eyes. My world was shaking. My vision blurred around the edges and focused. All I saw was chocolate brown.

I hurt. My whole body started hurting, starting with an ache in my chest. Then it spread to every inch of my body, turning sharper and hotter with every second. Soon I was burning, burning with the power of it.

I don't know how I did, but I was certain I was dying. That I would not be here for much longer. Maybe it was because I knew I'd rather die than live the life I had at that moment. It shouldn't be that way. Everything should be different!

Everything started getting brighter. Slowly at first, then faster and faster. With that light, the pain got worse, till I was just a ball of fire. A ball of fire that had eyes, eyes that were connected to hers. The grass around us started to char. It all became too much. Everything was too much. The battle, the death, the pain. All too much. I felt it. Every molecule of my being was dissolving and changing into something different. Something of pure power. Everything was white light.

"NO!" And I exploded.

And everything was black.

* * *

Loved it, hated it, think it needs some pink flying monkeys? Review and let me know!


	2. What the hell?

**Author's Notes:** Hello everyone! I just first off would like to say thank you to everyone who left me a review! I loved them all, especially the ones that included constructive criticism. Now I'm sorry if the beginning of this chapter is a little boring, but it was necessary to show the differences in my final battle vs cannon. It picks up after a little bit I promise! Lastly, I'd like to give a special thanks to my good buddy edwardhpsam for all her amazing help! I couldn't have done this without you!!

* * *

Chapter 1

Everything was black.

And my head hurt. Why did my head hurt? What happened? I remember getting ready for the battle. And then the fighting… and Voldemort… he's dead! Oh, but my head hurt. In fact, my whole body hurt. Like the day after one of Wood's all day Quidditch practices. But much, much worse.

What happened to me?

I had returned to Hogwarts for the diadem and found the hidden DA in the room of requirement. Then Snape was chased out of the castle by the other professors. We were all in the Great Hall when Voldemort's voice rang out: "I know you are preparing to fight," he said, "Give me Harry Potter. You have till midnight." And I went to him…

No, not then. I had to get the diadem. I had to let the others fight, I had to let them die… Then Ron and Hermione showed up, with Hufflepuff's cup, which they had destroyed. They _finally_ realized how stupid they had been. I smirked a little bit at the thought, then winced. Even my lips hurt!

Back to _why_ I hurt.

We got the diadem and saved Malfoy, the stupid ferret. Then Fred… I couldn't help but let out a strangled sort of sob at the memory.

_Then_ I went to find Voldemort, only to watch him kill Snape… I never would have believed it if I hadn't actually _seen_ the memories. Snape loved my mother. Snape LOVED her. And he continued to love her. This time Voldemort gave us an hour.

"I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you," his voice echoed around the shrieking shack. "This time I shall enter the fray myself, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you. One hour."

While the others mourned the already fallen or cared for those injured, I escaped to Dumbledore's office to watch the memories. To learn what I must do next. To learn that I must die to protect those that I loved.

With that conviction I left the safety of the castle to find my death. I passed Neville on my path to Voldemort. I gave him the task of killing Nagini, for someone needed to continue working towards Voldemort's eventual end. Seeing Ginny almost stopped me. One look from her could have made me run away with her and let the rest of the world be damned! But I knew she would never want that. _She_ was the reason I was walking into that forest. Yes, I wanted to save Ron and Hermione and Neville and Hagrid and everyone else… but to be honest with myself—and if you can't be honest with yourself, who can you be honest with?—it was mostly for her. Every step I took was for her. I would die so she could live. Has there ever been a better reason to die?

Into the forest I went, Ginny's name resounding in my head with every footfall. _Ginny… Ginny… Ginny…_ All too soon I was there, face to face with the man who haunted my nightmares. And I gave myself up.

I willingly died so he could be defeated.

Then I think I went crazy for a bit. The ghostly King's Cross and the not-so-ghostly Albus Dumbledore could only be the imaginations of a lunatic's mind. _But then…_ like he said, "Of course it's happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?" And maybe it was.

I came back to my body and knew what I needed to do. I played dead, bided my time. Then the shocker of all shockers: _Narcissa Malfoy _helped me fool Voldemort! I did feel sorry for Hagrid, having to carry what he thought was my lifeless body. Voldemort commanded him to take me to the most visible spot on the grounds of Hogwarts: the top of the hill that lies just before the Quidditch pitch. We were quite discernible from every window of the castle that faced the sprawling grounds. His voice rang out once more:

"Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"

I sensed, rather than saw the people tentatively trickle out the large front doors to see for themselves the truth. It took everything I had in me not to tense up with anticipation and nervous energy in Hagrid's massive arms. When al of the Order and the DA were close enough, Voldemort started bragging about defeating me. He had Hagrid set me on the ground so all could see my limp body.

They made me proud, the DA. Especially Neville. They refused to let my "death" stop them from bringing Voldemort down. They stayed loyal.

I had never seen Neville so strong as I squinted through barely opened eyelids. He made quite the figure, standing defiant, talking back to the darkest wizard of the century without blinking an eye. I almost gave up my cover when Voldemort forced a burning Sorting Hat onto Neville's head. But he broke free, and in doing so pulled Gryffindor's sword out of the hat. With a battle cry the likes of which I had never heard from him, Neville swung the sword in a high arc and brought it down with a resounding THUNK, severing Nagini's broad head from her long body.

That was when the second battle of the night began.

It was one big blur of dodged spells and shouting voices. Everyone expected me t show some sort of unusual magical power or have some crazy trick up my sleeve that no one knew about. But that wasn't how it happened at all. He _was_ more powerful. He _did_ know more spells. But I had determination, and a true reason to fight. Not just for myself; I had already given up my life that night and somewhere in me I still thought I was going to die. But I was sure as hell going to take him down with me.

So I kept going. Kept dodging and firing spell after spell. I knew they had little effect on him, but I kept fighting. With the extra power and endurance and focus of someone completely devoted to his task, I kept fighting till I had my opening.

I don't think he realized he was going to die. Even in the last moments as the green light left my wand and rushed towards him, I don't think he knew it was the end. It's sad, really.

He was dead. I was alive. But it wasn't the joyous occasion we all thought it would be. There were too many deaths. On both sides.

Then came my walk through the fighters. While I can't really remember the individual faces, there was one common trait that will stick in my memory forever: weariness. A weariness so deep it was almost as if they couldn't believe it was finally over. _I_ couldn't believe it was finally over.

When I thought Hermione was dead I almost broke. I had never hurt so bad. But it was nothing compared to when I saw Ginny.

I exploded.

That must be why I hurt so bad. I exploded so now my body is in a billion little pieces… But it didn't _feel_ like my body was in a billion different pieces. I could clench my hand into a fist, though it felt weak and hurt to do so.

I'm dead. That must be it. I always thought I was going to die in that battle… I just never realized it would be so painful. At least if I'm dead I would get to be with Ginny again, and see my parents and Sirius and everyone else. A small smile cracked my lips, not hurting quite so much that time. But I would miss Ron and Hermione and Neville and Luna, as crazy as she is…

But if I'm dead, why is everything so black? _Shouldn't it all be light and clouds and rainbows? Shouldn't there be a pearly gate and a bunch of people welcoming me with open arms? Shouldn't there-_

Right as I was thinking it, the unmistakable sound of footsteps sounded, coming closer and closer. _This must be it,_ I thought as the footsteps became louder. _This darkness was just limbo while I waited to reach heaven. Once that person gets here I'll be with my family. And Ginny…_

A sharp rapping noise came from what must have been a door to my right. I knew that in moments I would finally be where I was meant to be. But the voice that greeted me was so unlike what I was expecting, it was almost comical. But most definitely NOT!

"Boy!" came the shrill voice of my horse-faced Aunt Petunia. "Boy! Up, now!" And her footsteps receded.

_Great!_ I thought caustically, _I'm in hell! Of course I am! It was too much for me to think I would actually be happy in death!_

Then I heard a soft groan. Was there someone else in here with me?

"I'm coming, Aunt Petunia," came that slightly high pitched voice. But it didn't come from someone next to me, it came from me! What the hell? What the HELL?!

I felt my body roll over onto its side without me telling it to do so. A light was turned on and I realized where I was: the cupboard under the stairs. This really was hell. I couldn't remember the last time I had ever been in there. I don't think I could have fit in it anytime past fourth year. My arm reached out for some clothes on the shelf above my head, brushing away a spider or two. It looked skinny and weak. I can't remember my arm being that skinny since before I started playing Quidditch first year…

My mind started to race as my body dressed itself. I had no control of my body. As far as I could tell, my body was no older than 11. What the hell? If I had any control I'd be hyperventilating right about now.

I finally calmed down to notice that I was leaving the cupboard. I was about eye level with the top of the door. As my body started ambling its way towards the kitchen, I tried to stop myself. I commanded my legs to stop moving, to go backwards, to hop up and down, hell, I would have settled for moonwalking if it was something _I_ controlled.

I was distracted from my efforts by a truly horrible smell entering the kitchen. I saw my Aunt Petunia, head and shoulders taller than me, poking at the stinking contents of a large metal tub in the sink.

"What's that?" I could feel my lips move, hear the words coming from my mouth, but I couldn't even begin to figure out how it was happening.

"Your new school uniforms," she responded tersely.

_Oh my God, no. NO! I can't be here! This can't be happening! This is _not _happening! It's just not possible._

My brain started functioning again for me to hear my aunt say, "It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

'_Yeah, if everyone else looks like they're wearing bits of old elephant skin.'_ What the hell!?! That sounded like the voice I've been speaking in, but I know I didn't say that out loud! I heard it in my head! Like a… like a thought? Could that have been something little ten-year-old me was thinking?

I was so caught up in thought and horror and wonder and everything else I was feeling that I didn't even notice the entrance of Uncle Vernon and Dudley. I was just starting to come to the conclusion that I was _in_ my ten-year-old body, when I was brought out of my musings by the disconcerting feeling of my mouth speaking without my mind telling it to do so.

"Make Dudley get it." Did I ever really think that would work?

"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley," my uncle replied without even glancing up from his paper.

I dodged Dudley's jab and headed for the front door. I've almost grasped the fact that I'm in the body of a younger me, but the real question now is _why_ was I there. Was I just along for the ride? Was this my own personal hell? I had to relive all my mistakes and watch everyone I let die get killed all over again? I'm dead and this is my punishment for my sins? Because if so, that's just SICK!

I was shuffling through the mail and I saw it. The Letter. The one from Hogwarts. It looked just the same as I remembered. The same thick parchment and emerald green ink. It felt heavy in my hand. This was the start of it all really. The start of my life; or at least the part of it that really mattered. I knew I was feeling a completely different kind of amazement than the other Harry was feeling over having received his first piece of mail ever.

"Hurry up, boy! What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" Uncle Vernon called out, chuckling at his own stupid joke.

_NO! If I have to be here, I want things to be different! I can't just sit back and watch everything happen the same way again. Come on, Harry. Hide the letter! Put it in your pocket so the Dursleys wont see it! Come _on_, Harry!_

And to my utter amazement, that's just what I did. It was as if an electrical serge went through me, starting from my head and shooting down to my finger tips. I felt myself take control for just long enough to move my arm and shove the letter into my left front pocket, crinkling it. This seemed to have startled Little Harry just as much as it startled me. I just stood there, staring at my hand until my uncle's disgruntled shout of "Boy!" made me jump and rush back to the kitchen, the letter still safely tucked in my pocket.

The rest of the day was spent in a haze. My body went about its usual business of doing chores, while my brain worked overtime trying to make sense of everything.

It was quite obvious that I was inhabiting the body of my ten-year-old self. What was less apparent was why and how. One minute I'm exploding, and the next I'm ten again. I really couldn't see any sort of connection.

That's how I thought of the incident. I tried not to let myself think about the battle and Voldemort and most importantly Ginny… whenever I slipped up it caused a physical pain in my chest that I think even Little Harry could feel; my hand would reach up and massage my chest. So it was thought of strictly as when I exploded.

And that's another thing that soon became really confusing: what do I call myself? It's really very hard to distinguish between my mind and my body. You rarely think of them as separate when you think of yourself. My image of _self_ always comes with messy black hair and green eyes. But really, the way of things right now, they are two separate things. Not being in control of my body makes it almost not really feel like _mine_. By lunch I started to refer to my body as Little Harry. I feel as if the two me's need to be thought of as two different entities, which is a concept in and of itself that gives me a headache. How do you think of the movements of your body as not yours? It's my hand and my head and nose, but it's Little Harry's actions.

I tried not to think about it too hard. But I was mostly unsuccessful.

And then there were those instances when we crossed over to each other. Like when I forced Little Harry to hide the letter and when his thoughts about Aunt Petunia's uniform choice came over to me. While I was unable to influence his actions at all the rest of the day, I would get little snippets of his thoughts randomly, usually when they were especially emotional or sarcastic.

Maybe that was where the connection lay. I moved his arm when I was singularly emotionally focused on it. I _needed_ to change it. When I thought back on it, I felt the same way right before the explosion. I _needed_ to change something. Anything. Everything…

Could that really be it? Could it really be as simple as that? I needed to change something so I did? That headache I had mentioned earlier? Yeah, it was back. Full force.

Harry waited till after dinner to go back to his… my… our? Anyways, he went back to the cupboard to open the letter in privacy. I felt anticipation crackle through me like lightning. I didn't know how he would react. Or if I would be able to influence his actions if I needed to. It was all so FRUSTRATING!

My hands trembled slightly as I gently pulled it out of my pocket, careful not to tear it. It seemed to be almost precious to Little Harry. Throughout the day he would reach down and pat it to make sure it was still safely in his pocket. Now he would get to read it. I felt almost as if I was reading it for the first time, too.

I stared down at the address for nearly a minute, not that I really had a choice where I stared.

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

'_It has to really be for me… It does have my cupboard on it…' _I still wasn't used to his thoughts popping into my head.

My fingers shaking, I gingerly tore through the wax seal.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Thanks for sticking through to the end of the chapter! And if the whole Little Harry/me/him thing confused you a bit, well... it was supposed to! I would really love it if you could leave me a review!! They really help motivate me when I'm feeling stuck or annoyed with the whole writing process.


End file.
